


Fire-Fallow Cultivation

by Payasita



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Changing POV, Found Family, Hollow calls the troupe, Not for a very nice reason, Other, Post-Embrace the Void Ending (Hollow Knight), Tags May Change, The Entire Void Sea, eldritch babysitting, hollow is very very sad but they will also not be taking any shit, warnings in chapter descriptions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25493701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Payasita/pseuds/Payasita
Summary: For better or worse, the infection suddenly faded. The protector of Hallownest was free to pack her needle and find a new calling elsewhere, and the Hollow Knight was left utterly without purpose. They were a relic of an obsolete time, living only with the memories of what had been done to them, and all their irrelevant nightmares.There was a god out there, they knew, that existed to burn away the regrets and tragedies of the past, letting them finally fade out of existence.Regrets like what lingered in Hallownest. Tragedies like the Hollow Knight themself.It would be their place, they believe, to be wiped away with all the other nightmares.Their half-sister, and maybe even the Nightmare King himself, might disagree. After all, Dirtmouth and the preserved remains of the City are already attracting new settlers. The people have hope, and all is well.(All is well on the surface, at least. Nobody's bothered to check too far below.)
Comments: 42
Kudos: 159





	1. I: Grimm

**Author's Note:**

> Discontinued ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Somewhere beyond the howling cliffs of the wastes, a calliope's melody kicked to life. The music was slow, and drifted into the fog to a metronome of hoofbeats. The beacon now called the Grimm troupe to a kingdom destroyed twice over, a place long overdue for rebirth, overhaul, or annihilation from existence, to make room for what came next.

But when gods end up personally involving themselves with their lands, the life cycle of a kingdom tends to drag on long beyond the time it had been meant to die. Either that, or it would end abruptly far before that time, often in some grand, pointless spectacle. It was very possible that both outcomes had come to pass for Hallownest. The Pale Wyrm's ex-domain, previously of someone else's light, (someone familiar,) was long steeped in the regrets of both its gods and all of their followers. It'd make for a fine feast.

The big-top setup, as always, was swift and silent. Their tents sprung up overnight in the very first settlement the troupe happened to find. There was no magic involved there, truthfully. They actually just had little that needed setting up. But the sense of unease their punctuality and macabre aesthetic always brought to their village of choice was, if anything, good advertising. 

The one who lit the beacon would soon be called to investigate. Whether they were beckoned by curiosity, boldness, or the horrified understanding that, whatever the troupe was, _that person_ had been the one to cause its arrival, and would be held responsible for whatever sinister intentions it had on their home. The summoner would always find them.

For now, the troupe master rests. He needed plenty of it, to prepare for what was in motion. His loyal kin have already begun flitting around in the caverns, consuming the nightmares that saturated the very air here. There would be many of them, this time, all biding their time and absorbing the lingering regrets of the dead as precious tinder for their lanterns. 

The struggling little hovel they'd set up in was more populated than expected. It could've nearly been described as a town, and likely would be one day soon. It wasn't uncommon for the troupe to land in the burgeoning stages of another civilization, though it was the lingering nightmares of the dead one preceding it that Grimm and his lot were after. The townsfolk here really had nothing to be afraid of. That didn't stop them, of course. Perhaps they could sense that the troupe might return for _their_ crumbling home, one day, after its own fall. Their fear was delicious.

Grimm didn't need to wait long for someone to venture in. He paused for a moment, watching from his perch. It was exceedingly rare for any bug who had not lit the beacon to enter the big-top while no show played. Instinct _screamed_ at most not to, in fact. But here came a young spider, (reeking of nightmares far older than she seemed,) armed with thread and a wicked looking needle, braving the stage in search of what lay within. So, him, then. 

He descended to greet her in a plume of red smoke, bowing once. Stranger or not, Grimm was not one to forgo manners.  
"Welcome," he began, "Is this your home in which my troupe and I find ourselves?"

His guest, less concerned with propriety, had taken a battle stance at his sudden entrance, silk gleaming dangerously off her weapon.  
"...Yes. I do not know _why_ you've been summoned now, but it is a mistake. You've no place here, King of Nightmares." 

He couldn't help a grin. It was always fun when his reputation preceded him. He stood tall, and turned back.  
"Pale thing, you know well the regrets lingering in this place. Nightmare seeps up from the ground below, pooling in every place that was once sacred, now reduced to a grave. Mistake or not, we are here, and I have no more control over the completion of our ritual than you. It's in the hands of the one who lit the lantern."

The intruder (brood of the dear Wyrm) remains on guard but makes no aggressive moves. She considers him for a moment.  
"This place is under my protection, for now. I don't know to what end you perpetuate yourself, but I won't allow any harm to come to its living residents."

"We wouldn't _dream_ of it." He grinned.

The spiderling remained unimpressed. She turned, eyeing Grimm for another moment, before leaving without another word. Not even so much as a nod to Brumm. Not that she would have gotten more than a grunt in return, probably. 

Shame. At best, a visitor might mean another acolyte. The troupe always had need of bugs willing to sacrifice themselves to the Nightmare Heart, and become willing coals for the ritual pyre. 

But at worst, visitors brought pitchforks. Comparatively speaking, he'd just had a very civil chat with a very nice young lady. 

He resumed his rest, for now. The summoner would arrive eventually. They'd be dazzled by his showmanship, they'd feed the precious flames to his child, and he would burn. So continues the heart of Grimm. 

(Though he hoped it'd be soon. The child slept latched under a wing for now, still mute, grey, and so tiny. He remembers how vulnerable it feels to be at that stage, how the world around is always too cold to be comfortable. He tucked his wings further around himself, snug for it.)

Some hours later, Brumm changed the timing to his melody, matching it with the beat of heavy, uneven footsteps that lumbered towards the stage. This was the one they were waiting for, everyone in the tent could feel it. He tucked himself further into the shadows as they slowly approached the stage, awaiting the lights and drumroll to announce his entrance. 

They walked slowly--limped, really. Grimm got a good look from his vantage point, and was absolutely fascinated. They held their nail with an odd grip, a weapon finer and older than any he'd ever seen held by a living bug. They were missing an arm, and their torso was littered with pockmarks varying dramatically in size, all scarred over and speaking of natural healing instead of soul focus. They were a huge creature, but rail-thin. (He wasn't quite sure how to feel about the fact that they were taller than even him. Stature played a role in intimidating and impressing others. It certainly wasn't everything, but Grimm had designed his vessel this way for a reason.) 

A bandage wrapped around their mask, over their eye. Grimm's eyes could see the crack it hid. Oh, it went _deeper_ than the surface of their carapace. This was a being of void, a masterpiece of soul and shadow created by the Wyrm, and for whatever reason, the break in their shell ran down into their very shade. That would never heal. Nightmares bled from it, radiating off this creature's very essence as though they had been _drowned_ in them. And like a piece of shellwood sunk at the bottom of the ocean, rendered soft and warped by the absorption of seawater, this being had absorbed an untold amount of fear and anguish and regret and loss into themself, where all of it would remain forevermore. This creature was a new form of nightmare in their own right. They were _breathtaking._

The drum roll began, and the stage lights circled the tent. The summoner did not move, did not need to brace themself. Grimm appeared before them in a burst of scarlet smoke, his back to them. 

"Well met, my friend. Well met." 

He introduced himself, his troupe, and the concept of their performance. The void being gave no indication of their understanding, but they did not need to. It was only once he was about to hand off his child to the one who'd nourish them that he hesitated, now understanding the full extent of the damage on their person when faced with how they breathed with such effort, how their back bent with the effort of standing.  
"...Perhaps you ought to find aid in your quest, friend. I can feel impressive strength within you, but the ritual may prove...taxing, upon you, as you are."

The void being stared him down, their only movement the uneven heave of their breath. 

"Very well. I can appreciate determination. I only spoke because I can sense the immense strain your body has yet to recover from. ...On that note, there is no time limit on the ritual, other than your personal level of patience for children." He grinned, bestowing them with the charm linked to the little soul of his brood. Their hand was full with their nail, so after a moment of hesitation, he fastened it to their ragged cloak himself. 

"Apologies, I am not normally one to give advice. But you're a very good listener." 

His smile, all jagged, monstrous teeth, was meant to unnerve and frighten. But even able to see beyond their forced stoicism, he could find no ounce of discomfort with it, or him, within their shade. It was in equal turns thrilling and tragic, considering again what must have come to pass to make this poor creature so adjusted to terror. He wondered at the nightmares they could offer him. Surely enough to at least molt the child once on their own. 

The child in question seemed just as curious about their new caretaker. Still idle and sleepy, it left its father’s cloak, and drifted up to take a nap between the creature’s massive horns. They appeared not to respond, but Grimm noted that their breathing evened out quite a bit, as if they did not want to jostle the child. Grimm expertly hid his amusement with a bow. 

"We shall see you again shortly, I bet."

They dipped their head ever so slightly in a nod, then staggered off, still balancing their ward on their head. 

How absolutely _darling._ He knew they would eventually learn that they needn't be so careful with the child during their travels, just as all the rest had.

With that, Grimm returned to his rest.


	2. I: The Hollow Knight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Descriptions of self-destructive behavior.

The closest target would be in Greenpath. It was also the most accessible. The vessel was unwilling to go into to the city until they absolutely had to, and the crystal peaks were going to be tricky. They at least _know_ Greenpath, more or less. 

The trudge there was still long, still made their joints ache and forced their flayed thorax to heave painfully. But it had to be done. Back when they had been the Pure Vessel, they were good at doing what needed to be done. Do not think about the pain. Do not feel it. Only act. 

With the infection ended, (abruptly, confoundingly, making them to fall to the floor and rendering their cage as shattered as they were) so too ended the violence all along the crossroads. Most everyone that fell to _Her_ influence were finally put to rest. Their time had long past. The vessel understood the feeling. (Do not feel.) It was quiet out here, now.

The vessel's little charge popped out from the collar of their cloak. It surveyed the area with idle curiosity, but made no sound beyond its fussy shuffling. The vessel distantly remembers learning that hatchlings were supposed to make a lot of noise. Shrieking, squeaking, and laughing is supposed to be commonplace for the vibrant little things. Perhaps this one was more like them. It's a strong theory, considering the bug meant to be the child's father was only a vessel for the burning god. (Sort of like what they had once been, but of his own free will. They hadn't been meant to have a will at all.)

They attempted to adjust their cloak more snugly around the little godling, calming it. 

They do not know if it was their heritage, or their long proximity to the (screaming, choking, _tearing stabbing oozing)_ moth goddess, but they had known the power of the ritual torch almost viscerally when they finally found it. They'd learned of the nightmare realm long ago, and of the Grimm Troupe that acted as the hand of Nightmare. The hand would reach into the living realm, process and refine the dreams that were too tainted for _Her_ realm, and bring them back as nutrients for the heart.

The vessel has thus far concluded that _all_ gods must be painful in some way. Their father-- their _sire_ had been blinding. _She_ had been bursting agony. (Bursting and bursting and bursting and bursting.) The thing of nightmares, Grimm, seared with violent heat beneath his carapace. They knew the slightest bit of it as he'd handled their cloak. It had been unnaturally warm in that tent in a way that felt like a threat, like the over-dry weather before a brush fire. It was uncomfortable on their ragged shell, made it feel like they ought to jam their claws into the crack of their mask and peel it all apart.

But. Grimm came with no harsh light. The scarlet fire burned the way a cooking fire did, made for heat rather than visibility. It ate away at the refuse and regrets of the past within its flames, and welcomed the comforting darkness that came after they were extinguished. The vessel trusted it more than they probably should.

It promised an end of all painful things. The Pure Vessel could think of no better mercy, than to be snuffed out with all the other irrelevant nightmares of old, forgotten worlds. Collecting fuel for the funeral pyre would be, at least, something of a purpose for them before they went.

(Even if it was a means of serving yet another damnable god. It was maybe a little poetic that their end would be for the sake of one final god that they'd been able to choose for themself. The vessel had no use for poetry, but maybe Grimm would find it suitably melodramatic.)

They lumbered on steadily, avoiding pools of acid and all the scattered nests of newly laid mosscreeps, and stood before their first trial. The child ought not to be kept hungry. 

...

They glanced at the warm little creature snug against their collar. It looked back up at them, and they felt its tiny thorax puff up in an attempted squeak.

The vessel, gently as it was able, took the little thing from their cloak, and set it aside a good several feet away from the torch in a nice, _safe_ patch of moss, also ensuring it was far away from any acid or creatures. The squits were docile now, but the vessel swatted them away from the area with a hand, just to be sure. 

And then, for good measure, they tucked the child in under a large leaf. It blinked up at them, and opened its mouth wide with a raspy screech. Like a quiet door hinge.

The vessel gave the child a solemn nod in response. With its safety ensured, they went ahead to challenge the Grimmkin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as my favorite comment last chapter put it: oh, Hollow. :/


	3. I: Hornet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hornet would just like to make sure nothing stupid happens.

"I am sorry, young miss, but I'm afraid I can't explain it anymore clearly."

"That--No, I do understand. I am just trying to discern whether what you're telling me is in _fact_ what you witnessed."

"It most certainly was! These old eyes haven't failed me yet, you know. Your larger sibling exited one of those ghastly tents, holding a baby."

"...I see."

Hornet pinched the space between her eyes, feeling a bit sorry for harassing the poor old bug who seemed to always stand sentry in town. But gathering information before acting had been crucial for survival, while Hallownest was in stasis. She could convince herself that's what she's doing now, but honestly, she's just bewildered. 

"And they went down the well?"

"That's right."

"With the baby?"

"Yes."

"... How did they climb down with it?"

"Oh, the poor thing did struggle for a bit. I watched them stand at the edge staring down for oh, maybe a solid five minutes? As they tried to find a good way to hold it safely and climb down with one arm. In the end, I believe they tucked the little grub into their cloak, sort of like--hm. Have you ever seen a new mother carry her hatchling with a harness?" The Elderbug sort of mimed suspenders across his thorax. 

"...I can't say I have. Er--Thank you for the information." Hornet nodded, distracted by the imagery of the old bug just standing there and watching while the Hollow Knight of legend struggled with the logistics of descending a chain with an infant. 

"You needn't be so worried, I think," Elderbug piped up, getting her attention. "I won't lie, I myself was a good deal _wary_ when you first pulled that massive bug out of the well with you, but in the short time I've seen you both around, they've proven themself an extraordinarily gentle sort. I think they can handle the responsibility. Those crossroads clearly aren't dangerous as they used to be, what with all the hubbub and travel we're getting lately." 

He was trying to reassure her. But it wasn't really the _hatchling_ she was worried about.

(Especially since she couldn't imagine the Hollow Knight caring for a baby without them just _radiating_ anxiety. She already assumed they were down there handling it like one would the Elderbug's priceless delicate flower, which seemed like it'd break at a stiff breeze.)

Hornet nodded again in thanks, and dashed her way into the well, leaving the Elderbug to his plant.

Now that things were stabilizing, she thought, someone really ought to get an elevator system to the crossroads working. Even stairs, at the very least. No doubt travelers will begin settling the land anew--they already have. There can certainly be safer ways to let bugs travel with their children. 

She might bring it up with someone, before she leaves. The land no longer needs a protector, and Hornet had already decided to travel the wastes beyond, in search of some other calling. Her mother, the King's Brand, the people of Deepnest who once called her Princess, the infection, and even the little Ghost were all gone. She still had no idea how the source of the infection died, but it had been long enough that she was certain it wouldn't be coming back. She held no duty to this place any longer. She felt... freed, in all honesty.

She'd grown fond of her void-touched half sibling, and had helped assure their survival when they'd staggered out of the Black Egg. She aided them while they healed, setting them up somewhere to rest and recuperate in the town above, as it'd been the closest settlement she could find, and they'd been at death's door. She only felt it right to help them. She knew what it was like sacrificing so much for these lands, and few others had sacrificed more than the King's Pure Vessel, mistaken for an unthinking shell and sealed for eternity. 

(Hornet had taken one look at the shivering, emaciated creature outside of the temple, and at once knew them to live and feel. In her efforts to justify and minimize her actions against the vessels, she'd referred to them all as "it", even the little Ghost. Despite knowing full well they'd all been capable of choice and reason, and going so far as to counsel the Ghost's path. 

Referring to them the way she did had been a small cruelty done out of selfishness. But it was not one she could ever force upon the Hollow Knight, as she watched over them while they slept off the burden of the entire world at her side.)

They would be fine without her, now that they'd recovered enough to use their nail. In truth, she doubted they held any affection for her beyond maybe a sense of gratitude for not striking them down for surprising her at their first encounter. Hornet feels she can safely assume they'll want space, and to live quietly in peace, after spending so long sharing their mind and body with the most hostile force in the world. Hornet would certainly want solitude, if she'd been in their place.

Still. Thinking of them as a sibling felt like a bond, of sorts. Something remaining to tie her to Hallownest--not that these lands can really even be called that anymore. Perhaps she could still come and visit them. She'll be curious to see what new society grows from the ashes. 

Hornet had little trouble tracking the vessel, and found them a bit of a ways into Greenpath. They were sitting on the ground against some overgrown foliage. This was curious, as she recalled there's a perfectly good bench up a few ledges.

"Hollow Knight. Are you injured?"

They shook their head. It was such a slight movement she nearly didn't register it. 

"...Are you certain?"

They regarded her for a moment, then pointed down to their lap. There was, in fact, a hatchling bundled up haphazardly in some of their cloak, a grey shelled little thing bearing the same curious markings worn by the circus troupe. It was fast asleep, and so tiny that the two together gave the impression of a mawlek trying to take care of a newly hatched aspid. They could wear the damn thing like a brooch, it was so small.

"You wish not to disturb it?"

Another slight nod. 

"...Will you remain here for the duration of its nap?"

Nod.

"And what if it sleeps a full cycle?"

They stared her down, resolute. Not moving so the child could sleep was clearly a matter of utmost importance. 

"Alright."

Hornet cleared a patch of leaves, and sat beside them. She retrieved a few tools from her cloak, namely a small spool of silk and some fabric equipment, and began to weave. The Hollow Knight sat dutifully still for so long she might have thought them dead if she didn't know better, before their mask finally tipped forward in sleep. The child, as expected, didn't so much as budge at any movement.

The peace was, admittedly, nice. Hornet was accustomed to being a protector, sentinel, whatever was needed. She'd take on that mantle again, for her sibling. If only for a few more minutes.

However, she swore if they did not wake by the time she was done with her project, she was gonna find a damp clump of moss and shove it down their cloak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> local pointy little sister convinced she has custody of the family brain cell. to be fair, she is usually correct


	4. I: Brumm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A return for clarification, and the imagery of a jumping spider trying to fight a fruit bat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im immediately not sorry for the pun

Brumm stood watch at the entrance of the tent. He'd been caught unaware, performing a bit of maintenance on his bugccordion when the summoner returned sooner than expected.

This was a surprise on its own, but not the biggest about the situation. The summoner returned with the spiderling at their side--there must be a bond there, on top of their unmistakable resemblance. Also, the summoner now carried the Grimmchild in a little spidersilk bag, strap slung over their shoulder, where the brood slept soundly in the basket at their hip. The two were clearly warriors, but they looked for all the world like babysitters who’d come back to collect a bit of geo for an hour of work. They brushed past him without a word. 

The Master normally didn't appear for the summoner until the flames were all collected. But it did not come as a surprise to Brumm when he swooped down to greet them, his attention squarely on the way his child slept in a bundle of silk like a little loaf of bread. 

Brumm knew Master Grimm well, from centuries of service and song. He could tell better than anyone else that right now, the Dread Troupe Master was a single slip of impulse control away from gushing over the sight before him like a child at a litter of soft baby tiktiks. 

Sickeningly sweet parental urges to dote aside, the Master would sooner fling himself into the void sea than break his carefully curated mystique in front of company. 

(Himself and Divine, Brumm knew, would not be spared later from hearing all about how precious his youngling looked being toted around in a messenger bag like a little parcel. Hrmm.)

Brumm resumed focus on his work, but kept his ear on the group.

"Have you returned to visit? Or perhaps simply to show me how much care you're putting into travelling about with my child?" Brumm could hear the grin in the Master's voice. 

"I've returned for answers, Nightmare spawn. I'd like to know why, exactly, my sibling has been tasked with infant care." The girl's voice carried sharp and dignified, as it had before.

"I've told you already, the ritual must be set in motion. Your sibling is only doing what is tasked of them as our summoner."

"...Summoner." The word was accusatory. Brumm looked up to see a stiff set to the summoner's posture, speaking of one who was trying spectacularly hard not to look guilty while their sister glared them down from below. They were not looking back, opting to stare straight ahead at the tent pattern. 

Master Grimm did not laugh, but otherwise was doing nothing to hide his amusement.

"Your sibling lit the lantern, and it now falls on them to collect the flames our kin gather throughout the kingdom, that my child may grow and be nourished by the nightmares of those lost."

"And once they’re finished?"

"A performance."

"Speak without metaphor, ringmaster."

"It's no metaphor. The child must grow, and the master of the troupe must share a wondrous dance with the star performer of our ritual. It'll be a grand spectacle, the heat of our passionate performance shall vitalize us, and kickstart the pounding beat of our nightmare heart. You're more than welcome to join the audience, child of Wyrm. The show is one night only."

" _I_ am _Hornet,_ child of _Beast._ And I've no interest in watching whatever 'passionate' clownery you mean to engage in with my sibling." She deadpanned.

The Master was silent. Many bugs would quake in mortal terror with his eyes locked on them like that. The spiderling held her ground, had no fear of him in her heart. 

Perhaps she, like Brumm, could understand that he was secretly trying not to burst out laughing. 

"Hornet, then." He finally spoke. "And the summoner?"

"They have no name."

"Oh? I suppose it's never too late. Perhaps they may find one for themself during their travels. I'm certain there's plenty to do as you journey for the flames."

The summoner gave no indication that they were part of the conversation. The child snored quietly in its basket. The Master turned his attention back to Hornet.

"I suppose I never did properly introduce myself to you, either. I am Grimm, master of this troupe. Your sibling's charge is the Grimmchild, a being of my own essence."

"It has no name for itself either, then?"

"Technically speaking, it has no self. All iterations of Grimm are just that, their personality as a hatchling notwithstanding."

Ha. If Brumm made a geo for every time any Grimm pointed out and fawned over what he thought to be a fascinating new quirk in his dearest hatchling, he could take his act solo.

"And once this ritual is done, you and your circus will leave this place?"

"You have my word."

The brave young spider seemed to try to stare into the Master. For being only half a god, her attention pierces like the Pale Wyrm's must have, when she deigns to give it. Brumm is perfectly fine with being left out of it.

"Alright, troupe master. I will be aiding them to hasten their quest, should they allow me." She glanced again at her sibling, who looked back at her. They gave no response, but perhaps something passed between them, because she nodded to the Master before the two took their leave. 

"Return, then, when the child is filled with flame." The Master turned from them once he spoke.

The two linchpins of the ritual made their way past Brumm. Hornet was looking ahead, already seeming preoccupied with her own plans, but the summoner spared him a nod. Brumm grunted in acknowledgement.

Once the two were long out of sight, Divine opened the curtain between her tent and this one. Her signature grin was absolutely delighted.

"She called you a _clown."_

Brumm could not help his snort. The Master brushed the two of them off.

"Nevermind that. Divine, I am going to do everything in my vast well of power to ensure that you see them the next time they return with my child. They had it curled up in a tiny, silk basket. A _basket!_ Like a bitty little spider egg," Grimm began his tirade.

Brumm tried to finish cleaning his instrument faster as Divine began to squeal.


	5. II: The Hollow Knight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The vessel isn't used to being helped.

Hornet's original idea had been to split the work between the two of them, but all the vessel had to do was show her the charm bound to the Grimmchild to explain it wouldn't work. The Grimmkin would not show themselves without the child. So, she resolved that they'd travel together. 

The vessel was mixed about this. They were grateful for the aid, but ashamed to need it. They'd been so strong, once. The king who raised them had spent countless hours ensuring they were trained to unmatched skill. Their strikes would quake the ground. Their spells contained such power that they crystallized perfectly into the intricate weapon forms they willed, back when the foremost "scientists" of the Soul Sanctum could only manage conjuring shapeless projectile wads that'd splatter on impact. Eventually, the vessel could even manipulate the very void within themself. _That_ had been the most difficult to learn, and they hadn't gotten far enough to articulate it beyond lashing tendrils before it was time for them to be sealed. Still, at their peak, they could have laid any of the Great Knights low. Maybe even five all at once.

Now, though. To put it delicately, their stock of eyes and arms had been halved. They could _remember_ it being easy to lift their head up, and keep their back straight without a stab of pain up their neck, but it wasn't that way now. Would never be that way again. They were certain their magic must have atrophied along with their body, eroded away over the hundreds of years of first cramped silence, then blazing bright torture.

It sickened them to recognize their own memories as tinged with _pride._ Bravado, deep within the flawless Pure Vessel, who should never have understood their own strength at all. What would the Pale King have said, if he ever knew? Their current form would be penance, then, the trashed skeleton that now trapped their shade a more than fitting punishment. They recalled a vaguely humiliating dream they had recently, among the radiant nonsense, that they'd gotten thrashed in battle by one of their tiny siblings from the abyss, the one they recognized from their ascent. They supposed it was borne from well-deserved guilt.

They were torn from their reverie, as they often were, by their sister and her strategizing. The two made their way up the defunct mineshafts along the caverns, and Hornet took every opportunity to find a shortcut, or a safe passage where they could both navigate without getting shredded by jutting crystals. She showed no frustration with them, and would to take to logistical problems with rapt focus on a solution. But whether she said anything about it or not, the Hollow Knight's stature and slow movement hindered them. Of course it did.

They were of no help to anyone. It was no wonder she wanted to leave them. Leave Hallownest. The littered ground of a dead kingdom was no place for a spritely, bold, quick-witted thing like her. So full of potential. She could be happy out there. They hoped she would be.

(Do not hope. Hope she'll forget them. Hope she'll miss them. Do not--)

"Is that it?" 

The Hollow Knight came to attention abruptly, jostling the child in their basket. It squirmed, affronted. The torch stood alone across a hazardous sea of crystals. Hornet put a hand on their arm to steady them.

"Peace, sibling. I can get there on my own with no issue. If I bring the child with me, that may be enough to summon our prey." She explained, looking over the crystal mess that made up the cave floor. 

The vessel paused, stared at the torch. It was maybe thirty, forty paces away?

They looked to Hornet and nodded, carefully handing over the bag. Hornet blinked, as if not expecting them to acquiesce so readily.

This was fair. Because in reality, they had no intention of handing over the infant so she could do battle with it. They just didn't want to be holding it at that moment, while they tried something inadvisable. 

They stood their ground, focusing with a pop and flicker of soul. Hornet, ever reflexive, dashed backwards out of their immediate vicinity, calling out some question. They didn't catch it, as their first attempt at teleportation in centuries succeeded in dropping them onto their desired platform, though they fell with a mighty _thunk_ onto their side.

Hornet wedged her needle into the wall above them, and flung herself over to them in an instant. The Hollow Knight rolled onto their back with great effort, and released a heavy, shaking breath. 

Hornet stared down at them. They stared back for a beat, then held out their hand. She wordlessly deposited the bag of Grimmchild into it. 

Their sister could take this next fight just fine on her own. It was obvious to both of them that the vessel would be good down there on the ground for a few minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i drink your comments to sustain me like a big nasty mosquito, thank you all sincerely


	6. II: Hornet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An idle chat. Everything's fine.

With the flame in the mine shaft secured, Hornet ensured her stock of supplies was sufficient for the trek to the City of Tears. She could make the trip there and back on her own quickly, but travelling with the Hollow Knight meant they'd need to camp out at some point. It wasn't really any inconvenience; what had she left in Hallownest to rush for?

The two siblings stopped to share a meal somewhere in the fungal wastes, above the Mantis village. Hornet had very spent little time here as protector, (the mantids did a fine job of that on their own,) so she took the opportunity to look around, and enjoy the sights. The smell here was odd. Not terrible, she thought. Maybe she'd just gotten used to it.

"Vessel, can you smell?" She asked, with no prompting. Hornet held no reservations about speaking whatever came to mind in front of the Hollow Knight. Even if they could not answer, they never gave her any indication they were bothered by chatter. 

"If you can't, I am unsure how exactly to describe the odor of this place. I'd call it ... earthy, maybe. But not like rot, oddly enough. I once chanced cooking the fungi that grows here for a quick meal, long ago. The smell that escaped the mushrooms once they hit fire put me off of any further experimentation. Like the fumes of poisoned corpse meat." She grimaced at the memory. 

"I remain grateful for my ability to rely on reserves of soul to preserve myself. Spiders aren't exactly known for culinary prowess, and even then, I'm not one to spin web traps. My needle suffices just fine for hunting, on the occasion I _want_ to eat."

The Pure Vessel watched her, politely attentive. She never found their gaze unnerving, and was actually rather amused at how they acted when faced with conversation. They had no voice, but still seemed to try so diligently to show propriety when spoken to, when they remembered to express themself at all.

"If you have no sense of smell, count yourself lucky. Nothing about having one while living in infected underground ruins has ever been particularly pleasant," she declared, stabbing a stick through the remains of a crawlid to roast over the campfire she'd started.

The vessel tilted their mask, gentle, and perhaps amused. They followed her lead with the campfire cooking, and carefully examined their dinner once cooked. Did beings made of void have to worry about foodborne disease, if they left their kills raw? Hornet certainly didn't, but that was entirely spider privilege. Maybe they just had a preference for how they wanted their food cooked. She'd bet being raised in the White Palace left them with some picky sensibilities, if they could taste. Or maybe they thought that's just what people did, as they'd grown up taking social cues from fussy noblemen.

The Hollow Knight offered a bit of their toasted kill to the Grimmchild. The goofy looking little imp spent a moment appearing to sniff at it, before it buried itself further down into the silk basket. Hornet was glad it was comfortable in its new method of transportation, but thought the creature rather spoiled. Didn't it know how rare it was to find something good to eat amid the ancient garbage of Hallownest?

Of course if wouldn't. Its kind wasn't from here, but more importantly, it was a _baby._ Hornet sighed, idly wondering which of her parents she'd inherited her penchant for callousness from, (oh, no, it was definitely the Wyrm,) if it hadn't been learned in her endless solitude.

"Perhaps you should make a game of its meal," she jokingly suggested. "Then maybe you'd have its attention long enough to feed it."

The Hollow Knight paused, gears working, then began just bouncing their stick of pierced meat in front of the child, keeping its interest. They looked ridiculous, gangly limbs curled them into their seated position on the dirty ground, jerking a stick around in front of a blatantly unnatural infant gremlin.

The spider instincts in Hornet told her that movement was good, and would get the little thing's predatory reflexes going. That was probably dumb, didn't the grub subsist on "nightmares"?

But her instincts proved right, as it suddenly snatched the piece of meat between broken-glass jaws, and began to chew through it. 

The Hollow Knight looked up at their sister with a set to their shoulders that projected pride to her. _"Look what I've helped it do, the child would eat because of me,"_ she seemed to read off them.

Hornet bit down a smile, and shook her head fondly.

-

Much later, and after one more ill advised rest stop by the acid pools where the hatchling had suddenly decided it'd be a good place to fly around, they arrived at the City of Tears. Hornet had no clue how the new hopeful townsfolk had orchestrated getting rid of the giant broken door that barred entry from this side, but it had been done, the ceiling dug high and crumbling above where it once stood. 

It was colder here than she remembered, even before they stepped out into the rain. The downpour didn't bother her, as usual, but she'd quickly weaved a small blanket to cover the top of the basket containing the child, just in case. This seemed to please her sibling, who'd proven to be very particular about how they protected it. 

The cold began to bite through her the deeper in they ventured. Something about it unnerved her. Was something causing a draft? Surely this place was too big for a hole somewhere to affect the climate. It was also quieter than she expected. Where were all those bugs who'd once ventured down to try and re-settle the city?

They found the torch easily enough, high into the storerooms. Hornet made quick work of the Grimmkin, and turned to find that while she fought, her sibling had been staring out one of the large windows open to the city below. She joined them, questioning. 

She hadn't yet asked about it, when she looked down and saw what they did. Down below, father into the city where the land sloped and opened to the waterways, the ground was pitch black. The rain already always kept some blocks of the city completely flooded, but the level of ground that'd always stayed above water was now submerged beneath a small lake of what Hornet desperately wished she did not know to be _void._ And it was still rising, very slowly.

 _Just what,_ she thought mutely, _had the Little Ghost done?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the short and uneventful chapter today but i wrote it as a cooldown from my work on that big white palace centric bastard novella im also currently churning out 
> 
> anyway im sure this is fine


End file.
